


Worth Fighting For

by RenaRoo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lieutenants are sent by the general to scout a distant city for the possibility of reclaiming it after the loss of Armonia. It's a simple scouting mission, but nothing about their discoveries of a war and time before their service is simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been meaning to write something about this topic for a while, and even longer than that I’ve wanted to write more Lieutenants because I love them so and I think about them a lot.

The words are dreaded among the younger soldiers, but the Lieutenants can see the words forming on the general’s lips as they approach. 

“I need a team for a scouting party,” Kimball informs them. “We will need to establish a new, if only temporary, capital as Armonia is no longer viable. I want a team I can trust. One with our best interests in mind. You’ll need to fully examine the area, test radiation levels, the natural resources, and as the place in mind was formerly an established city, determine _why._ It hasn’t been reclaimed by either the Federal Army of Chorus or the New Republic during the war.” Her eyes harden. “It won’t be easy. Can you do it?” 

Andersmith has stood in perfect attention since the moment they came into Kimball’s office. He nods emphatically to the question without hesitation. 

“Absolutely, General Kimball,” he says.

Palomo has had less than perfect posture. He fidgets back and forth which only worsens under Kimball’s direct gaze.

“Sure thing, Boss!” Palomo says with an unsolicited salute. 

Jensen is not timid but she hangs a step behind her team. There’s an observant lilt to the way she holds her head before ultimately nodding to the information. 

“We’ll be on it, General,” Jensen promises. 

Bitters is not in attention nor does he shift under even Kimball’s look. He seems resigned even in posture. 

“Gotta find _somewhere_ left on this planet to live,” he replies. 

If any of the reactions give the general pause, she does not show it.

Instead, she dismisses the lieutenants for their new assignment and returns to running an entire planet. 

The four of them start packing supplies.

* * *

The trip is half a day by warthog, which is half a day that they spend in their usual alignments. 

With Andersmith sitting in the back vigilantly looking over his team as well as the road ahead. With Bitters driving and making the occasional reckless move just to accent a burn or to knock Palomo off his already wavering game. With Palomo chatting endlessly about his observations and feelings and blubbering through sentiments toward Jensen. With Jensen messing with the radios and rechecking everyone’s guns and ignoring Palomo’s more blatant attempts at fraternizing. 

Things are fine until they reach the city.

They’re professionals, they’re _soldiers._ And more than that, their troop is specially chosen from their ranks, no matter what decision making process might have been used, ultimately it has forged their ranks in _steel._

And that is why they know to keep their heads down and to go silent once in the threshold of the abandoned city.

There can be _anything_ awaiting them at every corner. And just like the denizens of Chorus are looking for a new home, so too would be the straggling Charon forces and pirates. What’s ideal for one group could seemingly be just as ideal for the other. 

“Anyone been here before?” Andersmith asks as they carry forward, Bitters pulling the warthog to a stop when it can’t service them on the broken city surfaces anymore.

“Nope,” Bitters responds, first to leap down from the vehicle.

“I’ve not been too many places,” Palomo admits, looking around with his gun held to his chest. “You guys?”

Andersmith doesn’t answer as he leads them forward over the piles of debris, but Jensen nods. 

They all continue in silence, combing, taking turns watching the rear. Alternating points as they come across more and more of the desolate city. 

The majority of the taller buildings are crumpled into the streets, but a good number of two and three story buildings are mostly intact. The windows are boarded up and cages drawn over the doors, abandoned with the hope of something to return to.

Bitters and Andersmith kick through one and inspect – it’s been raided before from the back entrance. What had once been a convenience store was laid bear, even the exposed pipes stripped and the water long since finished running out. 

“We’ll have to bring our own supplies and restock everything if General Kimball decides to replant here,” Andersmith acknowledges. “That’s a lot more resources and time than a fresher city.”

“Yeah, but it’s also less likely to have company,” Bitters argues back. “I see what she wants from it. Who cares about us tiny soldiers who’d have to do the manual labor at that point?”

Palomo hangs back outside, but close enough to the busted window to hear it all. He can’t help but interject.

“Why’d this city get left so early in the war? I mean, it’s nothing like Armonia, but it’s decent sized. Neither side wanted it?” he asks. “It’s… a little weird.”

They look at each other before heading back out, curiosity piqued. 

Andersmith takes point again and moves to what seems to be a governmental building of some sort, an abandoned clock on the tower barely hanging in one piece above. 

The others follow, slowly, watching as their leader seems to be on a mission.

He pauses and digs through some of the rubble. 

Bitters stands nearest, looking over his shoulder, also seemingly aware of what they’re looking for.

Jensen shrugs at Palomo and begins digging, certain she’ll find what’s of interest when she does. But she comes to a halt much sooner, her fingers brushing over thick, faded fabric that she pulls from the brick. 

“Oh, gosh,” Palomo whispers. 

Jensen holds the torn doll in her hands, staring at it in the ensuing silence. 

“Damn it,” Bitters sneers from Andersmith’s side.

Palomo and Jensen get up and come to their teammates, slowing as they see the uncovered remains of what looks like standard New Republic armor from a distance. But while it’s the print they know, it isn’t the shape. 

“It’s a turret,” Palomo acknowledges out loud. “One of ours… but why–”

He stands and looks at the patterns of shrapnel and destruction on the governmental building. He realizes that they don’t form the remains one would expect from a carpet bomb at all.

“It was a Fed city,” Bitters spells out. 

Andersmith allows the brick to fall back onto their discovery and he moves forward again, moving them all past the destruction. 

Jensen and Palomo look to each other then follow. 

She carries her own discovery with them. 

* * *

A few hours pass before they reach the opposite end of the city. 

They’re tired, sore, and more than a little cranky but relief is slowly spreading through them. They will likely stay the night to write up all their observations but they’re _there._ They _made it._ And there’s something relieving in their bones at that.

Except something feels off, at least for Bitters, as he pulls himself to a stop early and glares at the horizon suspiciously.

“What is it?” Andersmith begins to ask as he notes how stiffly the orange lieutenant stands.

Palomo and Jensen are still moving forward, a light bickering between them taking most of their attention until they come to the of the street and see it.

The hump of dirt followed by a few more rows. 

A chill is between them all as slowly they confront the city’s edge. 

“Oh my gosh,” Palomo whispers as they come right up on it and confirm what they all suspect.

Graves. Mass graves. New and Fed, civilian or not. The forgotten losses of the war that had only been half faked. 

“No,” Jensen cries a bit, shaking like a leaf as she clutches to her found doll. She stumbles backwards until Bitters catches her.

Unusual for him, Bitters wraps an arm tightly around Jensen’s shoulders. He leads her away, keeping her tight against him as she tries to find the use of her own feet again.

He doesn’t whisper anything to her, though.

Andersmith comes up behind Palomo. 

“We can’t have people move here, not like this,” Palomo blathers only somewhat coherently. “We can’t… We have to do something.”

The blue leader is quiet for a moment, reflective, until he glances at Palomo. “We saw that hardware store a street back. It has shovels.”

The younger soldier looks back at him for a moment before nodding. 

They don’t have to say a word as they go to the store and come back with shovels. They begin covering what was left open, not a peep between them. Not even when Bitters and Jensen return, equally as silent, and help as well. 

Jensen lets the doll rest over the last grave. 

* * *

They take camp in one of the larger department stores, clear out the show floor, repurpose some of the furniture and clothes.

It’s a simpler task than finding the energy to trek back across the city for their supplies at the jeep. Especially after the hours spent tending to the long forgotten dead.

Andersmith has been just outside for the last thirty minutes, giving the general his abridged updates over radio. He’s drained in every sense of the word as he comes in and is a little grateful for the fact that his squadmates aren’t bickering for once.

Rarely can he turn his back without that being the case. 

They _are_ talking, however, for nothing can be said about their squad more than the fact that their partnership is rooted first and foremost – however unconventionally – in friendship first. 

“Anything of interest?” he asks as he comes closer to the circle they’ve formed around the kerosine lamp. 

“Andersmith, how old are you?” Jensen asks first.

He blinks, trying and failing to see where this is going. “Why?”

“Are you younger than nineteen?” Palomo butts in. 

“I’m not sure why you’re asking…” Andersmith trails off. He recalls a distant conversation with Captain Caboose that started with boot size and ended with his usual sage advice, about how he tries to never answer questions until he knows what other people are asking for. Though, perhaps, he said it the other way around.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, John,” Bitters groans. “When’s your birthday?”

“I’ll be nineteen in July,” he caves and answers.

Bitters expects the answer and looks over to Jensen and Palomo with his hand out. He gives them a _come hither_ motion and the two groan, throwing ration bars at him. 

“What just happened?” Andersmith asks, hands on his hips.

“We made a bet,” Jensen sighs.

“For _some_ reason, no one believes me here when I say I’m the oldest,” Bitters answers, opening the ration bar and taking a bite out of it just to hear Palomo’s throaty whine. “I mean, _obviously_ I’ve seen the most shit of all of us here.”

A little surprised, Andersmith furrows his brows. “How old _are_ you, Bitters?”

“Nineteen since august,” he answers with a shrug.

Andersmith nods to it, accepting the news. It seems as though everyone’s as old as he expects them to be. 

“Palomo’s the youngest,” Jensen snorts, patting him condescendingly on the head. “Go figure.”

Palomo takes it, flinching only a little with each _thwap_ but there’s something more serious and focused to his eyes than usual. After he chews on his lip a bit, he looks to the rest of the squad and quietly points out what really should be obvious. 

“If you guys are only nineteen… doesn’t that mean none of us were even in kindergarten when the war broke out?” he asks.

They fall silent for a moment, focusing on the words. 

“It’s kinda weird,” Palomo shrugs. “I think I’m only a New and not a Fed because that’s what my parents were, y’know? I guess I never really made _the choice._ I mean. I guess I was lucky! I just got to be on the right side because my parents were on the right side.” He looks at them cautiously. “Right?”

The question hangs between all of them thickly, _suffocatingly._

“Of course,” Andersmith finally answers. And it’s settled. 

* * *

Kimball’s already assigning details and getting equipment and supplies loaded onto trucks by the time they return. 

The general turns and looks at them with what passes as a genuine smile on her tough as nails features. The nod helps assure that she’s giving them her approval. 

“You four did good work. I thank you,” she tells them genuinely. “With a new city, Chorus can start rebuilding.”

There’s a sickening feeling between the four of them. Even Andersmith drops his head at the notion. 

“It’s _not_ a new city,” Bitters speaks up first. “Not really.”

Their general’s face is drawn into confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The city you’re going to make New Armonia belonged to people,” Palomo speaks up with unusual collectiveness. “It… Our people.”

“ _Chorus_ people,” Jensen clarifies. 

Because there are no sides. Not anymore. And certainly not in death.

“General Kimball, before the official move, I would like to deliver my _full_ report to you,” Andersmith explains. “In person.”

“That’s an unusual request, John,” Kimball says back.

“It’s the honorable thing to do,” he continues. “To speak of the people, to observe them, out loud. And to make sure even in our rebuilding they’re not forgotten.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kimball turns to them more fully. They have her full attention now. “What exactly did you all see?” she asks.

“War,” Jensen answers.

“The real war,” Bitters adds. 

They go to her office, determined and headstrong. Because they inherited Chorus just like they inherited the war before it. And they’re determined to do right by the burden. 


End file.
